


The Time I Stood Up Straight (and you were right beside me)

by RoseintheWind



Series: Iwaoi Week 2020 [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Marriage Proposal, Olympics, chapter 402, iwaoi week 2020, time skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27863226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseintheWind/pseuds/RoseintheWind
Summary: ~~Iwaoi Week Day 3 - Olympics/Established Relationship~~It had taken him years. Years of yearning, years of practice, years of determination and the pain and the smiles and the losses that ran with it. The tingling sensation when he'd first touched a ball and the blisters that left his hands the one-thousandth.It is no surprise that Oikawa Tooru is in love with volleyball.But Oikawa knows to love is to make ends meet, to push past what sometimes even you think something isn't possible to achieve.And it is also no surprise that this love can't be stored in just volleyball specifically.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Series: Iwaoi Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2035180
Comments: 3
Kudos: 53





	The Time I Stood Up Straight (and you were right beside me)

It had taken him years. Years of yearning, years of practice, years of determination and the pain and the smiles and the losses that ran with it. The tingling sensation when he'd first touched a ball and the blisters that left his hands the one-thousandth. It is no surprise Oikawa Tooru is in love with volleyball. When you fall in love with something, it is all you can think about, all you can strive for. To be better, but Oikawa also knows to love is to make ends meet, to push past what sometimes even you think something isn't possible to achieve. That is all you can do. Push harder to show the world you became someone, or even to show one person you are someone to them. Someone from the very concrete that was soaked with tears with loss and after loss. Second place, always. Sometimes who, even sometimes, was even pushed lower than that. Loss, after loss, after loss. 

But you can't give up, not from that. You can't get anywhere if you sink to the ground and decide you're finished.  _ Get up.  _ Get up so you can become someone to someone. Get up so the world will know your name, or someone will at least remember.

Oikawa Tooru had beaten the odds. The odds of 1/562,400 or 0.00000177809 percentage of making it to put in perspective. But he doesn't like to think of it by the odds, and what he was set up by birth to what he could and couldn't achieve based on what he was given. 

The odds never did bother his drive and instinct. 

However, that drive and instinct broke the odds.

He takes a deep breath, letting the metropolitan airflow through his veins. He recalls doing the very same so many years ago on his first trip to Tokyo, something far grander than the countryside of Miyagi. He can hear the subways rattle in the distance, the animatic chatter, the 'oohs' and 'ahhs' that come from his teammates as they look around what he still considers, even still, home. 

He can tell he's severely jet-lagged and hasn't even had the time time to even look at his phone, let alone know how Iwaizumi is doing. 

He wants to see him. He wants to see him more than anything in the world will allow him to have. It had been too long, too long of passings and quick things they could do to get their fixture of being away from each other. The small touches they revelled in, the stolen glances when they'd have to save their meetings for a later time, the countless video chats and phonecalls stacked one over the other until he's lost track of how much time he'd spent talking to Iwaizumi. When he wasn't in his presence, he'd wonder how long they'd been spending the minutes that tick by, the minimal amount of time they had, away from each other. 

But not anymore. No, it wouldn't be like that anymore. 

It had been almost ten years since Oikawa had left the confines of Japan for Argentina. And now, it would all come to the climax he'd been waiting for, a spot at the Olympic games. His team unloads all of their baggage into the rooms they have booked for them to stay in. Oikawa places all of his stuff around and lays on the comfortable bed with plain, warm quilts and fishes for wherever he might've dropped his phone. But as his arms grow numb from hanging over the bedside and the mattress seems more and more welcoming by the second, he finds his eyes growing heavy. Sleep pulls him to unconsciousness, and he rests away a dreamless sleep.

He didn't pull over the covers in his sleep and realizes he's been wearing the same thing for hours. A shower, he decides, is his best course of action. 

After he does so and changes into something more acceptable and clean, he takes note of the small room they've placed him in. Too fatigued from the previous night to come up with a cognitive thought concerning his surroundings, he now registers where he is.  _ The Olympic village. A room he calls his own when he drags himself back after playing games on the international stage.  _

A dream, Oikawa feels like he's in. He wonders if somehow he'll wake up and be in high school all over again, or junior high, or even before. Oikawa shakes his head. The plain white walls must be making him fly into the skies of loose thoughts. 

A simple portrait hangs on the wall adjacent depicting the construction of the village. His bags sit haphazardly across the carpeted floor, and there is a wooden dresser beside his bed where he knows trinkets and safekeepings of the like will be put when he has more time. 

But for now, he doesn't. He changes and quickly grabs his phone, eager to hear from Iwaizumi. 

_ Are you here yet? _ Has been texted to him in Iwaizumi's opposite greyish-white bubble of text. Only a few hours ago as well. He wants to laugh at how easy Iwaizumi said it.  _ Are you here yet? _ , like he's asking if Oikawa's reached his house so they can do homework or if he's arrived at a place that they're going to be meeting after school. Just as nonchalant as that. 

He types a quick reply and the message sends through his own blue bubble. 

_ I made it.  _

A promise and promises of the same notion kept throughout the years similarly. I made it to the cafe you were waiting for me at. I made it to the airport to pick you up. I made it to the shower where you were waiting for me. I made it to the Olympics. I made it. 

_ We  _ made it. 

Oikawa only has the chance to catch Iwaizumi's eye a few times. Once, as he goes down for breakfast and notices him carrying too much food for him to handle before he almost tips over. Once, where his team trails behind him and Iwaizumi's parallel to where all of the rivals he recognizes have their faces litten up or they ponder the person in front of them. Iwaizumi crushes him in a hug to the shock of some of the Japanese players behind him and the slow recognition of the Argentine players behind Oikawa. He wants more, he craves seeing him more than the limital touches they've been allowed. Once, where Iwaizumi had linked their hands together in a quick passing greeting and gave him one of the biggest smiles Oikawa's missed. And once, during a time where they had a little bit more (but just not enough), where Iwaizumi melds him to the wall and kisses him like he's the air he hasn't breathed in so long, too long. 

The breath Oikawa's gulped hasn't felt the same since that time, and he always feels like something is missing. 

As much as he'd like to indulge the thoughts and run over to Iwaizumi and spend the rest of the week with him, he came for a reason beyond that. With the time between practices and cooldowns and the games, he finds that time at its very limit. He has to sleep, he has to eat, he has to keep going with all of the people around him. He runs with the bustle and dance of the adrenaline and he feels like he could get high off it. 

Every game where he performs his best and they take another team under their winnings, he secretly hopes that Iwaizumi's smiling up to him in the crowd. Or even better, something beyond the realm that they live in, he could just look over on the court and Iwaizumi would stare back. Like they once shared the court when they were twelve, thirteen, fourteen until they ruled it when they turned eighteen. Clad in cyan and white, Iwaizumi stares, ready to receive the set he knows as the ace, he'll spike.

Instead of dwelling on it, he sets his mind to a new goal instead. If Iwaizumi wasn't going to share the court with him on one side then he'd make sure they got far enough so they could share it in general. Regardless of what time had made them decide, he'd make sure he could look over, and even if it was somewhat obscured by the frame of the net, he'd be able to see Iwaizumi's clear face, right across the court. 

After triumphing against team after team, jumping the hurdles of the third round, the fourth round, the quarter-finals, semi-finals, they'd finally made it to the finals. The pressure of the gold hung just nearby, and whoever was going to wear it would be revealed in just a few short hours. But that didn't matter, not at the current moment. 

"This is going to be one extravagant family quarrel," Oikawa says to the rest of the Argentines behind him, his hands on his hips and giving the biggest smirk to the Japanese national volleyball team that stares into him right back. Iwaizumi Hajime, his lover, his partner, stares right back, giving an identical smirk. His face may be slightly obscured but the fact still stands. He faces Oikawa from the other side of the net, both on the grounds of an Olympic court. 

_ We made it.  _

After a brief warm-up and analysis of the opposition, Oikawa lets out a long breath and rolls his neck from side to side. Five other players have their backs to him, and six stare intensely from across. Oikawa spins the ball in his hand, feeling the perfect side of the curvature, and he faintly recalls a whistle being blown that echos off all of the walls of the stadium. The cheers of the audience, Japanese, Argentine, or otherwise, grow quiet. 

Oikawa throws the ball into the air and as he jumps, as he reaches for the sky and the heavens above he's finally been able to achieve, he can hear the air hang around him. All eyes are on Oikawa Tooru as the ball reaches the apex, and him along with it, and he can feel the suspended and contracted air of anxiety from the audience. 

He feels the ball perfectly synch up to his position, in the place he had mapped out before, and it touches his hand to it like ground-zero. The ball sails over the net like a bullet, and lands right in between Ushijima and their black wavy-haired outside hitter. They try to get a touch on it, but Oikawa's improved. This wasn't high school anymore where the monsters and the demons shone high above the rest, leaving all of the other, weaker teams in their path of destruction. This is the Olympics. And at the Olympics, everyone is good enough to stand on the same stage. 

And Oikawa being a finalist in the Olympics?

Well, they never stood a chance. 

The two stumble to reach it, getting a small arm on it but nothing more. The ball goes flying into the crowd which erupts in cheers that fill the adrenaline in his blood and pump it throughout his entire body. Shivers run down his arms and goosebumps are left in their wake as the Argentine crowd's screams of approval and happiness reach the far ends of the stadium. 

Oikawa briefly hears the announcers go wild. 

" _ And that's him, folks! Oikawa Tooru, Japan-born and moved to Argentina to go higher in his volleyball career stands before his home country with a startling jolt for the Japanese players! Oikawa has just scored an ace on his very first point!" _

Oikawa bounces the ball a couple more times, up and down in rhythmic therapy and spares a glance at Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi glimpses from pondering his team to noticing Oikawa's look. He gives him the biggest shit-eating grin he can muster mostly likely to tell him he won't get away with it, and Oikawa only looks down and huffs a laugh in return. The whistle blow faintly echos through his ears again, and he jumps the same, ball arced high, but not too high, in the air and a perfect distance for him to be able to smash it onto opposing court. 

This time, Hinata -who wasn't too far away- was able to pick up the ball and send it straight to Kageyama on the other side of the court. Many options stare Oikawa and his teammates in the face, but Oikawa has a feeling about who he's going to set it to. The ball arches perfectly to Hinata, but he's too early on his jump. Instead, the ball flies, sails to the other side of Hinata to another small, quick blob of a person. It lands perfectly on his palm before he slams it down into a three-man block. Their libero picks it up, sending it to the other setter with blonde hair, as Japan's cannon, sets up to fire another shot down into the opposing court. Javier, their outside hitter picks it up, sending it to Oikawa. Oikawa sets it high, aiming for behind him before he fools the blockers and sets it straight in front of him. 

It smashes through the plates of the ground, the very foundation of tectonics. 

0-2, Argentina.

The game progresses in the same fashion. Oikawa can feel the prickles of the Japan team every time he sets up to serve. Kageyama has improved beyond his wildest dreams (but what was he expecting?) and sets with every perfect precision in the book. Ushijima isn't named 'Japan's cannon' for no reason, and he can feel the gravitational pull every time the ball is placed in front of him. Oikawa recalls Hinata never knowing how to receive when they were a lot younger. He could never predict, was never in the right spot, arms and legs flailing as they attempted everything everyone else could do. But he watches him fly, and dive, and sprint, and can empathize with how getting out of Japan has made him stronger. Every other player on the court moves like gears placed into a machine, brains never having to catch up from the number of times the same thing has been drilled into their minds. But the Argentine team moves much the same. 

Quickened movements, calculating eyes, watching Japan like they're the lions about to catch their prey. Japan does not back down from being the same in that regard as well. Wolves staring each other down in sheep's clothing. 

As the sets dwindle by, Oikawa notices something. Team Japan has very high morale, nothing to his surprise. With monsters like them who have dreamed of using volleyball as a second language, it's no shock that they want to keep using it for eternity. But humans are flawed. And as long as it took for Oikawa to realize that they weren't omnipotent, weren't beyond the scope he could reach, he realized that they, too, are flawed. You can only prolong exhaustion for so long but as Iwaizumi calls for timeouts, or starts talking to the team in between sets, Oikawa notices them perk up after his every word. He recalls a time at Seijoh, where every day he'd pick up a jersey emblazoned with the number one, a symbol of a captain. He's never regretted taking it, never regretted always being in the spotlight. But often that lead to his teammates being in the shadows, Aoba Johsai being a king's court with only Oikawa on it. He never wanted to see it like that, not after junior high. But he knew that's how all of the other teams talked about them. But as he looks over to Iwaizumi leading a team, brightening spirits, he couldn't believe how anyone ever underestimated him or placed him below their standards. 

Seijoh's ace turned the Japanese athletic trainer. Kageyama and the other blonde-haired setter may control all the monsters on the court, but Iwaizumi had them dancing to his tune when they were off. 

The whistle tweets and Oikawa's reminded of where he is. The sets have been tied in the gold medal game. They go into the fifth set, a game to fifteen to decide it all. 

Kageyama, up to serve first, scores a point off of a dump. The next time, the point is awarded to Argentina off of one of the spikers hitting it off into out territory off a double block. The points are traded, round and round, as the momentum shifts with it. As the game continuously goes on, Oikawa's heart starts to pump faster, feels the very fabrics of the court itself around him fluctuate with adrenaline and an underlying hint of anxiety. 

As much as the feeling trades his normal, natural instinct, for the feeling and dance of the court, he knows that this is what it's like when you reach the top. When you reach the stage when you become so enamoured, that the world has revolved around a point of home. 

The sets remain tied 2-2. The score, a race to fifteen, stands at 18-19, again in Argentina's favour. This is it, he hopes. The final push. The crackle of anticipation on his skin. The quest to see who will remain on the court the longest.

He sees the overhead arch of the ball over his head and sees one of Japan's libero's pick it up. Kageyama gets into position and tosses it to the other setter in a first-tempo quick that is picked up by Argentina's libero. It flies slightly higher over Oikawa's head and he goes to reach for it, snatching it over from Kageyama who was positioned on the other side of the next. He sets it to Argentina's ace, who tries to smash it down before getting caught by Hinata. The ball flies over to the other setter, ready to set to anyone in his vicinity. It flies back over to Hinata, who smashes it from the back. He can tell Hinata is trying to lure the blockers, put them in one place so he can have an open spot. Oikawa knows he wasn't called the greatest decoy for no reason in high school. But he lets Hinata use that and at the last second, has the ball bounce perfectly up from his arms. Unfortunately, that means the first touch. Out of the back though, their libero jumps sidewards. A perfect set springs off of his fingers. He watches the ball, watches it with the biggest grin on his face as he jumps. Japan's blockers go to cover the two hitters on the left and right sides but Oikawa jumps up the middle. He can see the focused and determined faces below him, all in tandem for another grasp at victory within gaining months.

But he's been waiting years. 

The ball hits his palm as if he was gunning a service ace. The ball smashes in the middle of the court floor. 

His teammates face features mold almost instantly. They rush all around him, gathering him in their arms in the biggest, sweatiest hug from the resultant of years of hard work. The tears involuntarily fall down his cheeks, and he can't stop the grin that threatens to tear his face open. 

Team Japan beside them stands down, defeated. The roar of happiness from the crowd makes his heart beat faster than it should, the union of now his nation. 

When the crowd disperses, he can see Team Japan shuffling over to second place on the podium. They name off the Brazilian team who came in third, the Japanese team, and finally Argentina, for the first time at the Olympics. 

They hang the medal across his neck, and the only time that's rivalled the sheer exhilaration he feels was when Iwaizumi confessed to him. 

When they step off, the Argentinan team speaking vividly in Spanish, Oikawa finally spares a glance at Iwaizumi, who has broken off from his team. For his team losing the gold medal game in the Olympics, of all things, his smile is as wide as Oikawa's.

"IWA-CHAN!" He screeches, voice out of breath and exhaustion finally seeping its way into his bones. He falls into Iwaizumi and can feel his grin pressing into his neck. 

"Congrats, Tooru. You deserve it." The tears soak down into Iwaizumi's shirt. 

Iwaizumi rubs his back. "Hey, don't worry, you did it." He says soothingly. "It's okay. You did it." He laughs into Iwaizumi's shoulder. It's broken, unbelieving, but joy reverberates off of every sound. 

Iwaizumi pulls back, and Oikawa misses the warmth and feeling of safety. Iwaizumi clasps his hands together. 

"Tooru, I've loved you for so long. We've been together our entire lives, and even if I wasn't aware of it, I've probably been in love with you for all of it." Oikawa nods rapidly. 

"Yeah, me too-" He gets out.

"I've been-" Iwaizumi coughs a laugh. "I've been preparing for this moment. The day when you'd finally gone against all odds and done what some would think of as impossible."

"Iwa-chan..."

Iwaizumi continues. "And I knew that when you made it this far, we would be ready to take another step into our lives because we've always been doing that together."

Oikawa's eyes widen. "Hajime, you're-"

"Yeah." He whispers, something no one else would hear amongst the energy in the stadium. Iwaizumi falls to one knee and pulls out a simple velvet box. 

"Tooru, I love you so much."

"Hajime-" Oikawa coaks, unable to process the situation in front of him. 

"Will you-" Iwaizumi laughs his own broken laugh. "Tooru, will you marry me?"

The tears on Oikawa's face increase two-fold, and he collapses himself in Iwaizumi's arms. "Yes, oh my god, yes Hajime, I can't-you-"

"I love you so much." Iwaizumi whispers into his ear.

"Yeah. I-I love you too."

He can hear the crowd roar in response. He kind of forgot they were all watching him. He gets up with a smile on his face and in his heart, something so genuine he hasn't shown the world in forever. His teammates also surround him, congratulating him. He holds his hand for Iwaizumi to grasp, to stand as his equal. He bites the gold medal that's been placed on his neck as Iwaizumi's placing the ring on his finger. When Iwaizumi sits up, Oikawa holds the gold up to his mouth. Iwaizumi, too, bites into it, a silver not being able to be across his own neck. The rules are stupid, Oikawa thinks. He's sure the idiots on the Japan team would've injured themselves easily without his care.

"Oikawa-san? Could I ask for an interview?"

Iwaizumi frowns and is prepared to shoo the reporter that approaches them off, but Oikawa smiles. 

He looks to Iwaizumi and kisses his forehead. "I'll be right back."

"So Oikawa-san, thank you for letting me interview you today! How are you currently feeling?"

"Incredible." He says simply. "Today has been a rollercoaster, but a good one."

"I can imagine. Now, I don't want to keep you for long, so can you answer one more question for me? Is there anyone you'd like to thank for your victory today?"

Oikawa huffs a short laugh. "I do. I'd firstly like to thank my parents for encouraging me. I'd like to thank my teammates now because I would've never been able to win by myself. Lastly, and most of all-" His face splits into the widest grin he can show the camera. "Thank you to my now fiance, my best friend, my partner, my pillar. Thank you, Hajime!"

He looks back to see Iwaizumi behind him freeze in his spot, and a blush overtake his cheeks. 

"I love you!" He turns back. 

The reporter nods, satisfied. "Thank you, Oikawa-san. I hope you enjoy the rest of your day."

Oikawa throws up a peace sign to the camera. "You too!"

He throws his arms around Iwaizumi once again. "I can't believe you said that on live TV."

"What?" Oikawa asks innocently. "It's all true!"

Iwaizumi smiles into a laugh. "Yeah, it is."

Most percentages of friendships only last seven years. The chances of a childhood best friend remaining even longer, less than that. And the chances of marrying your childhood best friend? Lowest of all, unimaginable, impossible. 

But Oikawa's never liked to look at the odds, never liked to believe he had to put faith in a statistic to succeed. 

And as Iwaizumi slips the ring on his finger and kisses him under a golden arch, the wonders if statistic is a fable of choice.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone has the actual statistics for the last part and could send them to me that would be awesome. I looked everywhere for them but nothing really came up :/  
> As always, make sure to follow me on twitter @phoenixesse or tumblr @rosiey9 for updates and rebloggings/retweets of people's cool things because I can't do art :)


End file.
